The two belonged to the same motorcycle club back in Hampton Roads, called Money In The Bank. The club had just thrown a highly successful party and everyone was bummed that "Florida Boi," as Johnson was known, couldn't make it. The fun-loving soldier with the infectious smile and the signature phrase of "all ready" would have been the life of the party.

From Afghanistan, Johnson asked about the party, and Kingston joked that a lot of girls were there.

"General dude talk," Kingston said.

Johnson said he missed his buddies and couldn't wait to get back home. He had 70 days left.

That was the last Kingston heard of his roommate. A few hours later, Kingston heard a rumor through a close friend that Johnson had been killed. It wasn't official, but it came from a pretty good source. Because the family hadn't been notified, Kingston couldn't breathe a word until a more formal notification was made. Eventually, the worst was confirmed.

"It was just devastating to everybody," he said.

On Friday, the healing process took a step forward as family and friends filed into the Regimental Memorial Chapel at Fort Eustis for a short ceremony in honor of Johnson that included the solemn final role call. As 1st Sgt. Darwin Barcus called out the role of names, voices rung out from the congregation, "Here First Sergeant!. Here First Sergeant!"

When he called the name of Johnson, the congregation was silent. He called a second time, then a third. Family members in the front row broke down in tears. Afterward, Barcus said that was the hardest part.

"When you call out that name and he doesn't answer back, it bothers you," he said.

Johnson was 25 years old and a native of Hobe Sound, Fla. He leaves behind parents, four siblings, a fiancee and a son.

Always dangerous

Johnson was killed when struck by indirect fire at Bagram Air Base, according to the Department of Defense. A cargo specialist, he was assigned to the 359th Inland Cargo Transfer Company, 10th Transportation Battalion, 7th Sustainment Brigade. His death was the first suffered at Fort Eustis since 2008, according to base records.

The same attack killed three other soldiers from the Fourth Infantry Division in Fort Carson, Colo.

Johnson deployed to Afghanistan in January. Although a cargo specialist by occupation, he worked in Afghanistan as an assistant convoy commander and found himself on the road a great deal. His mission was to escort gun trucks, according to Lt. Col. Megan Gumpf, his battalion commander.

She didn't know details of the incident where he was killed, other than he was on the base and he had departed from a bus stop. His death hammers home the point every soldier knows: You don't have to be kicking down doors on a combat patrol to find yourself in danger.

"Any soldier in any trade could potentially be in harm's way," she said.

But it was also clear from fellow soldiers that Johnson was exactly where he wanted to be.

He enlisted in 2006 and was on his third combat deployment, having also served in Iraq. His buddies pegged him as someone who loved Army life and planned to make it a career.

"He lived for the military," said Sgt. Darius Williams, 34. "You have soldiers who come into the military for a certain reason, but he was one of those soldiers who just loved what he did."

Infectious enthusiasm

Both during the memorial service and in interviews outside the chapel, the same picture of Johnson emerged. He was someone who always smiled and helped others do the same. Kingston, his roommate for two years, said, "in all honesty, he never seemed like he had a bad day. Even if he did, nobody else knew it."

Staff Sgt. Derek A. Nevels, who spoke during the service, recalled meeting Johnson for the first time at Fort Story. He noticed his wide smile, the impossibly white teeth, and marveled at how he called out the cadence during a physical training session

"We got back and (Johnson) said, 'I bet you didn't think I could do it like that,' " Nevels recalled.

Johnson's enthusiasm spread to others as well. Friends recalled him making conversation with Afghan civilians, always flashing a photo of his son. In early 2010, he deployed to Haiti after that country suffered a devastating earthquake. While there, he made friends with three Haitian boys who were trying to teach Creole to American soldiers, said Spc. Cemeia Melton, who served with Johnson..

Johnson helped organize a fundraiser that generated some $400 for the children and their families.

His positive influence on fellow soldiers made news of his death that much tougher to hear. Like Kingston, who inadvertently heard the news early, Sgt. Dawn Hawkins was in the room when the initial phone call came in, and she had to hold the news inside until it became official.

"For a little over a day, I couldn't say anything to anyone about what I hard heard," she said. "I had to keep my composure together".

Nevels was meeting with a college dean about his daughter's education when he got the phone call. He excused himself and heard the caller say, "Nev, Nev, Nev, it's bad."

At first, Nevels didn't believe Johnson had died. To this day, he does not recall hanging up the phone. He still wants to remember him as the guy with that wide smile and his signature phrase. As he spoke during the service, Nevels' voice broke only once.

His hand rising in a salute, he said: "When you get to those heavenly gates, flash those pearly whites and say 'all ready.' "